


of marks and moons.

by thiyaksokhae



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, markjin are whipped, passing mentions of other ships, the moon is mentioned too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 10:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12604188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiyaksokhae/pseuds/thiyaksokhae
Summary: Mark wonders if a world where the concept of soulmates is nothing but a theory, a result of long and extremely imaginative contemplation, or a plot idea, would be much simpler.Especially since he got his time mark when he was drunk off his ass and now doesn't remember who his soulmate is. Not to mention that he's falling in love with someone who is definitely not his soulmate.Yeah, Mark's life isn't the simplest.





	of marks and moons.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ante Meridiem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633365) by [seventheavenly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventheavenly/pseuds/seventheavenly). 



> thank you to [@seventheavenly](https://seventheavenly.tumblr.com) for letting me waddle into the universe that you wrote and place a story there ^^
> 
> this has not been proofread, so there may be a few typos here and there. i apologize.  
> also, conversations in italics do not necessarily happen between the two parts in between which they fall.  
> hope you like it ^^

Beautiful is a word people often use to describe days when the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the bees are humming and the flowers are blooming.

 

Not Mark. He likes to associate the adjective with days graced with rain, from drizzles to thunderstorms, when a wet, earthy smell hangs in the air, when the atmosphere is drowsy and tranquil, when hot comfort foods taste even better than usual.

 

That's why he's in an even better mood than usual as he pushes open the door of the library, stealing one more glance at the showers beginning outside. He shakes a few raindrops out of his blond hair, earning a reprimanding tongue click from the library assistant waiting (im)patiently for Mark to take his place.

 

“Hey, Yoongs, what crawled up your ass and died?” greets Mark, chirping his words out, much to the chagrin of his sour-faced classmate, Min Yoongi.

 

“My reasons to live,” snaps back Yoongi. “Also, you're half an hour late, and it's raining now.”

 

“I envy you, you know,” hums Mark, not bothering to apologize. “You get to walk back in the rain, and it looks like it's really coming down.”

 

“I'm going to get soaked,” whines the other, shouldering his satchel with his mouth turned down into a pout reflecting absolute distaste.

 

“Seokjin's going to kill you,” sings Mark softly, stretching out the vowel sound in the last word.

 

The mention of his soulmate brings a soft smile to Yoongi's face (one that Mark calls his Seokjin Smile, but Yoongi punches him everytime he uses the term), one he dispels as soon as it surfaces, instead saying in a snippy voice, “Don't remind me.”

 

“Your tough boy cover has softened beyond repair,” teases the blond, snickering. The empty space on his own wrist seems to twinge slightly, reminding Mark, for the nth time, that he hasn't found his soulmate yet. It's been weighing on his mind a lot more lately, mostly because ever since his brother found his soulmate two months ago, he's been the only one left in his family to find his own.

 

People think having the time mark is difficult, but the ones who don't have it go through a time of their own too, one that's nowhere near rosy. Mark has dated a few boys and girls in his life, but it's always been the same cycle—fall in like, have a little fun, kiss at specified time, find out that they aren't soulmates, _I think we should just be friends to spare us both a world of heartbreak, an_ d drift apart. Rinse and repeat. It hurts, a lot, and Mark's pretty much given up, having not dated in over a year, believing that he's doomed to remain soulmate-less for all eternity.

 

His mom told him, the last they spoke, that it wasn't a big deal, that a lot of people find their soulmates a little later in their lives, but Mark has convinced himself that isn't worth all the pain. If he finds his soulmate, he'll know, he's sure he will, and only then will he take the kiss risk. He wonders if a world where the concept of soulmates is nothing but a theory, a result of long and extremely imaginative contemplation, or a plot idea, would be much simpler.

 

The rain is coming down harder now, and being the middle of a Sunday morning, when most students are sleeping off their hangovers acquired from the parties attended the previous night, there aren't many people at the library. Mark stares out the large glass windows, watching the heavy raindrops fall as the library dims to mimic the outside.

 

His gaze wanders to the sparse number of students populating the library. He can see the usual Sunday morning study group (or the Nerd Herd, as Jackson likes to refer to them as), but his eyes catch on the boy who's pulled his chair to sit under the windowsill. He has dark black hair that looks eerily grey as it catches the ashy light streaming in, a look of intense concentration on his face, a novel in his palms. His face is attractive in a nostalgic, dreamy kind of way, especially since he seems to glow softly in the dim rays. Mark has caught glimpses of the boy in the library before, but they've always been too fleeting for the blond to observe much. Now that the boy is in full, unobstructed view, he looks almost ethereal in a way, reminding Mark of the wings of butterflies and the image of a star-filled night sky on a still lake. The moon is the closest image of comparison that Mark can come up with.

 

Mark doesn't know what way the universe twists to alert Lunar Boy, but he suddenly looks up, trapping the blond's eyes in his own deep, captivating orbs, which are the colour of midnight. Mark plays it off as an accident, a coincidence, and quickly smiles off the surprise.

 

Lunar Boy smiles back—a small smile, filled with pleasant amusement and just a hint of uncertainty, one that draws the blond like an ocean current—, and Mark thinks his day just got a little more beautiful.

 

*

 

Mark sees Lunar Boy outside the library a few more times after that day. Or maybe he just starts noticing him more, he's still not sure.

 

The first time is when Mark has to go see his professor regarding a quiz that he missed, and he catches Lunar Boy exiting the very same office that he's making his way to. The ravenet is dressed in a long-sleeved black button-down with jeans, with glasses resembling Harry Potter's resting on the bridge of his nose. A flicker of recognition ignites in his eyes as he notices Mark, and a fleeting smile crosses his face. He seems to be in a hurry, so Mark just nods and smiles back in acknowledgement, and goes on his way.

 

Mark wonders why the smile doesn't drop from his face for the whole day.

 

The second time is when Mark sees his face on a poster for the semester's play. He's figured out Lunar Boy’s name by now—thanks to Jackson, to happens to know basically everyone—, but continues referring to him as so because the nickname makes him sound almost fictional, like a faraway dream just out of reach. Park Jinyoung makes him sound too human, taking away the vibe of the whole idea, and adding the designation President of the Drama Club double-confirms the fact that he's way out of Mark's league.

 

Mark wonders why he'd want him in his league in the first place.

 

He catches glimpses of him a few more times on campus, but Lunar Boy is always surrounded by at least one other person, and Mark's courage always fails him in times like these, in the presence of people other than the one he'd like to approach, and so he just grits his teeth and hurries on his way, assuring himself that there'll be a next time, that he isn't affected by his inability to approach the boy.

 

Mark wonders why he's so affected by his own inability to approach him.

 

He wonders about a lot of things. He wonders about why Lunar Boy has this unbelievable power of not letting him look away. He wonders why he even thinks this much about Lunar Boy in the first place.

 

Questions pelt him in the dead of night. Does Lunar Boy have a time mark? (Maybe, maybe not. He wears his watch on his right hand, and that could be hiding a time mark. Or maybe not.) Is he searching for his soulmate? (Again, maybe, maybe not. Mark hopes it is maybe.) Is there the slightest chance in this cold, unforgiving universe that he could be…

 

He hasn't ever completed the question in his head, but it has the knack of derailing his train of thought every time.

 

It's nearly two months after the first time he sees Lunar Boy that he finally gets to talk to him.

 

It's a Thursday evening, quite near closing time for the library, and Mark is reshelving books in the history section, humming a light tune.

 

“Um, excuse me?”

 

The tentative whisper is amplified in the dead silence, and Mark flinches violently, nails digging into the spine of the book he just placed on the shelf. Embarrassment floods his bloodstream as he registers that it's—to his absolute misfortune (or luck)—Lunar Boy, standing with an apologetic smile on his face.

 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” Lunar Boy's voice is just as Mark guessed, smooth, delicate and lilting, reminiscent of gentle brooks flowing in the woods, or frost patterns on glass, the kind of voice that is perfect for lullabies. “But then again, isn't that what they all say?” A small laugh. Mark feels like all his breath has been drawn out of his lungs.

 

“It's alright,” says Mark, with a hesitant smile, when he realizes that Lunar Boy is actually standing there, expecting him to respond. “Can I help you with something?”

 

“I was wondering where the Resnick and Halliday books were, I can't seem to find them.” Something about the sentence could arouse suspicion about how many times it was mentally rehearsed, but Mark thinks that's just his imagination acting up.

 

“Physics section, fourteenth row, thirty-second rack,” rattles off the blond, feeling rather proud of himself for having remembered that.

 

Lunar Boy's demeanor exudes politeness, the nod of acknowledgement almost gentlemanly, as he replies, “Thank you, um…”

 

“Mark. Mark Tuan.”

 

“Mark,” repeats the ravenet. The name sounds a little foreign in his mouth, like he's unsure of its pronunciation. “Fourth year, right? I'm Park Jinyoung, third year.”

 

 _I know._ “Nice to meet you,” smiles Mark, shaking the hand held out to him.

 

“You too.” Jinyoung turns to walk away, but turns back at the last second just to say, “And by the way, it was the twenty-sixth rack.”

 

The cheekiness, the self-satisfaction in the last statement, coupled with how Jinyoung waits for Mark to betray some kind of emotion in reaction before grinning and walking away, gives away his original intentions. Mark stands, frozen, for almost a whole minute, mentally digesting what just happened, as his brain gradually steers itself back to reality.

 

The blond shakes his head in disbelief, casting his gaze out the window.

 

The full moon seems to smile back at him.

 

*

 

About a week later, the persistent rains condense into the first snowfall of the season, and Mark gleefully pulls his hands into his fuzzy pink sweater as he tips his head to the sky and attempts to catch a couple falling flakes with his tongue.

 

He knows that if he stays outside for much longer, he will likely freeze, regardless of how much he loves the weather, so he ducks into the nearest establishment, a café. The snowflakes begin falling with a higher frequency, and Mark figures he might as well order something since it looks like he'll be stuck here for a while.

 

As he waits for his order, he checks out the rest of the café, one that quite a few of his college-mates frequent. Then he realizes there's a face there that he recognizes. All too well, actually.

 

 ~~Lunar Boy~~ Park Jinyoung.

 

Mark is now making a conscious effort to get rid of the nickname, because he’d accidentally almost used it while crossing paths with the younger in one of the department buildings.

 

Jinyoung is sitting at a table with two other boys, and Mark thinks he wouldn't be too off if he guessed that the other two were a couple. His suspicions are confirmed when one of them, the one with several piercings in his ears, laughs at something the other said and kisses him on the cheek. Jinyoung pretends to retch and Mark smiles and looks away.

 

Settling himself at a table near the window, Mark takes a long sip of his large hot chocolate, watching the fluffy flakes flutter and twirl before they become one with the white carpet covering the ground. There's only so long one can watch snowflakes without getting bored (Mark calculates that it's approximately ninety-four seconds), so the blond starts fiddling with a napkin, pinning down a crease and folding it, deciding to amuse himself with origami (which he believes is the only thing that he's good at) before he calls Jackson to come pick him up.

 

Mark’s eyes flick upwards when he notices someone take a seat opposite him, and it turns out to be ~~Lunar Boy~~ Jinyoung— _Jinyoung_ , damn it—with a full smile on his face, adorned with little crinkles around his eyes. “Is that a swan? That's cool!” The childlike awe dances bright in his eyes, and Mark is filled with the warm glow of satisfaction. Jinyoung's smile turns a little sheepish suddenly. “Probably a little late to ask, since I'm already sitting down, but—”

 

“No, I don't mind,” says Mark, shaking his head. A corner of his lips quirks upwards, the only indication that he is actually happy to the tenth power that Jinyoung joined him.

 

“Didn't think you would,” grins Jinyoung cheekily. “I noticed you when you walked in.” A small cough. “Like, it's obvious you're not, uh, a regular here, so that's why I noticed, um, yeah.”

 

Mark quirks an eyebrow. “Should I apologize for that?”

 

“No, I was just saying,” shrugs Jinyoung, having recovered rather quickly from his slip-up, his shoulders relaxing. “I did expect you to say hi, though.”

 

“I barely know you,” replies Mark, raising his mug to his lips, seemingly disinterested. The fact of the matter is that that is the truth, and Mark Tuan knows near to nothing about Park Jinyoung, and that he is merely infatuated. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

“Yeah, right,” smirks the younger. “You know I'm Park Jinyoung, that I'm in my third year of college—the same college as yours, by the way—, and that I know where the Resnick and Halliday books are in the library. Isn't that enough information?”

 

Mark shrugs in response. “Maybe.”

 

“Hi, then,” smiles Jinyoung, the words holding a teasing dare, almost challenging Mark to say it back.

 

“Hi,” obliges the older, amused. A pause.

 

“Next time you see someone you know, say hi,” instructs Jinyoung lightly, taking a draught of whatever is in his mug. His words hold a subtle undertone that specifies that he is only counting himself under _someone_.

 

“Alright, mom,” says Mark, rolling his eyes. A pause. “You were with your friends.”

 

“I know, but they're here now too, and I'm sitting and talking to you,” points out the younger nonchalantly, as though he isn't highlighting the very fact here that Mark just cannot comprehend.

 

“You don't have to.” Really, Mark doesn't understand why Jinyoung actually came and sat with him.

 

“Do you not want me to?” asks Jinyoung, an edge of offence taken to his words.

 

The blond laughs, soft and suppressed because he can't unleash his inner hyena yet. “I never said that.” Indeed, the last thing Mark is doing here is complaining. “But I certainly think your friends would want back your company.”

 

“Soulmates need their soulmate time, either way,” explains the ravenet dismissively. “They don't need a third wheel.”

 

 _Soulmates_. _That explains a lot_. Mark tilts his head. “So that makes me what, exactly?”

 

“An escape of sorts, I would say,” chuckles Jinyoung. Mark shrugs, figuring he can take what he gets.

 

A small silence falls between them, as Mark searches between snowflakes for conversation starters while pretending to not notice Jinyoung’s scrutinizing gaze that's directed at him over the rim of his mug.

 

“You don't talk much, do you?” asks Jinyoung, in an almost amused fashion, with a dash of curiosity.

 

“And you're rather blatant, aren't you?” retorts Mark. Under different circumstances, perhaps, he would find the younger annoying, but right now, he's completely open to being subjected to questions from this human being who is nothing like Mark expected.

 

“I try,” nods Jinyoung. “Life's too short to mince words.”

 

“That's a… different way of looking at things,” allows Mark, smiling.

 

Jinyoung frowns. “Is that _different_ supposedly to act as an alternative fo _r weird_?”

 

“No, it just means that I prefer keeping silent over all other options,” admits the older, smile turning a little sheepish.

 

Jinyoung stares at him for a few seconds, and Mark can hear the wheels in his head processing the statement and wondering how to respond. “You're an interesting person, Mark Tuan.”

 

“Is that _interesting_ supposed to act as an alternative for _weird_?” smirks Mark seemingly unabashedly, though internally cringing at himself. He's not good at this. Playful banter is not under his list of talents in his résumé.

 

Jinyoung scoffs disbelievingly and Mark flashes his unbridled smile, the one that showcases his teeth. “I'm kidding. You're pretty interesting yourself, Park Jinyoung.”

 

Interesting enough to talk to for a couple hours, until the world outside has been blanketed with white.

 

*

 

_“Do you think things would be easier if the concept of soulmates didn't exist?”_

 

_“Maybe.”_

 

_“But would you prefer it that way?”_

 

_“Most likely.”_

 

_He changes the subject too quick for Mark to ask him the same._

 

*

 

A wadded-up paper ball strikes the back of Mark's head, finding its target, as indicated by the thrower, who lets out a gleeful yell.

 

Mark swivels in his chair, glaring at his best friend, who's lounging on his bed. “Jackass, what do you want?”

 

Jackson looks satisfied at the response that he's instigated from the blond. “A Porsche. And a fanclub. Maybe superpowers, but I feel like that'd be too greedy. What about you?”

 

“Potato chips. Maybe a special calculator that you can feed your calculus problems into and have them printed out all finished,” contemplates Mark out loud, his pen tapping impatiently on the papers on top of his desk. His hand reaches for the paper ball and he smoothes it out, hands working without being connected to his brain.

 

“Any people on the list?” prompts Jackson, hints of evil permeating into the corners of his expression.

 

“Not that I know of,” shrugs Mark plainly. _Lunar Boy? Who's Lunar Boy?_ (And no, he hasn't stopped using the name in his head.)

 

“Come on, everyone has people on their list! Mine are Taeyeon and Jaehyung, if you want to know.” The fact that the two names mentioned belong to Jackson's two favourite idols makes Mark roll his eyes.

 

“What about Beyoncé?” asks the blond, hoping the fanboy in Jackson will help him change the subject. He's nearly finished making a boat with the paper, something simple for a change, then he unfolds the whole thing and starts again.

 

Jackson is relentless. “Don't be an idiot, Beyoncé is on everyone's list. Now tell me who else is on your list.”

 

“Your persistence is commendable,” allows Mark, making a noise as though burned when the paper in his hand tears in two, probably from having been folded too many times over. “No one is on my list, thank you very much.”

 

“The more you deny it, the more I'll think you're hiding something,” sings Jackson, but his impatience is beginning to surface.

 

“Suit yourself.” Mark makes a prompting motion with his hands, turning back to his notes.

 

“Come on!” bursts Jackson, the second syllable stretched into a whine. “My mind sensors are detecting an excessive presence of lovesickness in your aura, and they're never wrong. Never.”

 

“There's a first for everything,” hums the older obnoxiously.

 

“Fine, don't tell me. I'll find out anyway,” grits out Jackson, a rather sinister undertone to his words. Mark finds it hard to take him seriously when he has seen Jackson bawl in fear during a horror movie. Multiple times. “By the way, Lee Jieun’s having a party at her house next Friday. Wanna come with?”

 

“Parties? No, thank you,” grimaces Mark, beginning to fold a corner of his notebook. Lee Jieun is one of his batchmates who lives off-campus at her parents’ house, and has a notorious reputation for throwing loud, really wild parties on the occasions when her parents are out for the weekend.

 

“Fine, then tell me who's on your list. As compensation for being a shitty best friend,” pouts Jackson, flopping backwards and sprawling out over Mark's bed.

 

The blond sighs, knowing that Jackson will not back down until he gets what he wants, one way or another. “Fine, I'll come to the fucking party.”

 

He can just about hear the grin in Jackson's voice. “That's the spirit.”

 

*

 

_“Okay, my turn. Sexual orientation.”_

 

_“Is there a reason behind that question?”_

 

_“Mere curiosity.”_

 

_“I'm gay.”_

 

_Mark pretends he doesn't notice the spark in the other's eyes, betraying the true reason._

 

*

 

Chaotic is a word that people often use to describe parties, ones that consist of booming music that shakes you down to your core, plenty of alcohol, couples (or just pairs of random strangers) making out in corners, and a shitload of people who are drunk off their ass.

 

Mark agrees, as he walks into the mess of a party at Jieun's sprawling two-storey house a little over a week later, nose crinkling at the unpleasantness of… well, everything. _Chaotic is about right,_ he thinks. _Chaotic fits._

 

He turns to his side, about to tell Jackson that he's seven seconds away from abandoning his faith in humanity and busting out of there, but finds that his best friend has completely disappeared. A disgruntled growl escapes his throat. He should've expected this.

 

His eyes wander through the crowd, past a sophomore swinging from the curtain rods to the junior squirting whipped cream directly into his mouth, and he sees Jieun, pushing her way through the crowd. She’s shimmying her shoulders to the music, her hair tied back in a long ponytail tied with a sparkly blue hair tie, her eyes resembling bright points of starlight. Her lipstick is smudged and the cup in her hand is nearly empty, the smile on his face enough to say that she's having a good time.

 

“Mark, my man!” she yells over the music. “Glad you came! How's my favourite American-Taiwanese blond male doing?”

 

“Okay!” yells back Mark, not pointing out that he's the _only_ American-Taiwanese blond male she knows.

 

“Glad you could make it!” The slur to her words, along with about five other signs, suggest that she’s more than just a little tipsy. “Are you not drunk?” Mark shakes his head, flinching when Jieun stuffs her fist near his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

 

“Uh… zero?” guesses Mark.

 

“Wrong!” cackles Jieun, throwing her head back and laughing. “It's five! They're just all closed.” Mark simply looks confused, promoting her to bark at a passing junior who has a can of beer in each hand, “Namjoon! Who's the other beer for?”

 

“Jimin. Why?” answers the addressed, who Mark, very intelligently, has identified as Namjoon.

 

“Awesome,” smiles Jieun, plucking the can out of Namjoon's hand without explanation or apology and handing it to Mark, who looks to shoot the robbed student an apologetic glance, but finds that he's disappeared as well, probably back to the beer or back to Jim-whoever.

 

“Have fun or I'll stop helping you with your papers.” Jieun shoots Mark finger guns and turns to leave, her ponytail swinging from side to side as she walks away. And he didn't even get to remind her that the last time she helped him with a paper was back during their first semester. Of freshman year.

 

The music pounds in his ears, but he can't leave because of Jackson, so he pops the beer open, taking a long swig, flinching as it gets pushed down his throat, leaving an awful taste behind.

 

Anyway, what's the worst that could happen?

 

*

 

_“Who would you choose if you could choose your soulmate?”_

 

_“Literally anyone?”_

 

_“Yeah?”_

 

_“I don't know… maybe Kim Wonpil?”_

 

_“An idol. Expected.”_

 

_“All right, who would you choose then?”_

 

_Mark looks into those large, deep almost black orbs, and knows he can't be honest this time._

 

*

 

Turns out that the worst that can happen is… what are the words?

 

Pretty fucking bad.

 

Obviously, that's why it's called the worst.

 

Mark wakes up on the floor of his hostel room, still in his clothes from the previous night, onto which clings the sharp combined odor of sweat, staleness and alcohol. His head pounds. He sits up, moving deliberately slowly because every small movement makes the world spin before his eyes. He peers at his bed, and finds Jackson occupying it.

 

His stomach aches sickly, and gives a sudden lurch, the taste of bile suddenly prominent in Mark’s mouth. He's barely made it to the toilet when the contents of his stomach spill out with a painful ferocity, making him feel like his very guts are propelling themselves out of his body. Jackson sleeps through the loud retching, making Mark wonder how much _he_ had to drink.

 

Once he's done emptying out his stomach (When did he have pizza?), he drags himself to the sink to wash his face and mouth to get rid of some of the awfully sick feeling permeating every cell of his. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, noticing that he doesn't remember how he sustained a neon green streak of glitter across his right cheek. Come to think of it, he doesn't remember _anything_ that happened last night after his third beer. And when had that been? Around 8:45? He realizes a crazily large piece of his memory is missing, and fear of the unknown grips him.

 

He raises his right hand to his forehead to wipe away the sweat drops collecting there, and his heart just about stops.

 

Because his wrist is not empty like he last remembered it, and instead, has inscribed on it, 11:11 PM.

 

A hurricane of thoughts rips through his head, most of them comprising of alarm bells and screaming, making his already abominable headache even worse. Mark stares at his wrist, rubbing the time mark on it like he expects it to just let itself be erased, but it remains as etched as ever, the black inscriptions staring back at him unkindly, mockingly, the way one would look at something before plunging a knife through it.

 

Mark feels the metaphorical knife wound as a burning in his chest sets in, as his mind registers the fact that not only found his soulmate, but kissed his soulmate, and then promptly forgot all of that. He simply doesn't remember.

 

And there's also the time on his wrist. 11:11 PM. 11:11 AM and 11:11 PM are the rarest times to get, mostly because of the benefits or baggage that comes along with them. Each time has a superstition surrounding it. Palindromes are luckier when they're with four digits instead of three. People with time marks between 3:57 and 4:12 AM are likely to find their soulmates in high school. Each time has certain implications on the soulmateship, but nothing like 11:11 AM and 11:11 PM.

 

Being born with 11:11 AM on your wrist is like hitting the soulmate jackpot. Receiving that time is the equivalent of the guarantee of finding out that your soulmate is exactly the one you wanted. 11:11 PM? The exact opposite. You don't end up with the one you want. It doesn't mean that the person you end up with is someone you'll never love, but it does mean a world of heartbreak before finding the person you're supposed to be with.

 

Mark's heart drops to his stomach as he realizes that this has one severe implication. His soulmate is not Jinyoung. His soulmate cannot be Jinyoung.

 

They'd talked for a near four hours in the café that day, long after Jinyoung's friends had left. After that they'd texted a few times, running into each other once in the library. From the dance that Mark’s heart did when he saw Jinyoung, to the satisfaction acquired from making Jinyoung smile, to the smile that made his face hurt when he was talking to Jinyoung, to the loud thundering in his head when they accidentally came into contact, Mark had gone from a baseless infatuation to full on falling in like. Not love. It’s not love yet. But Mark really, really, really likes Jinyoung, and he could choose a soulmate, he’d like it to be him.

 

And that’s why his chest feels like it’s collapsing on itself. The time mark feels like it’s been carved into his hand, and as he runs a finger over it, he feels like his wrist has gone numb, because it’s too real, too… there. His headache has gotten so bad that all he can just make out a steady buzzing in his ears and a heaviness in his head, his mind a million miles away.

 

“Mornin’.” Mark jumps a mile. Jackson leans on the doorframe, outwardly looking relaxed but in actuality, simply leaning because he can’t keep himself propped up on his own. “Thanks for waking me up with your ungodly vomiting sound effects.”

 

“You’re very welcome.” Mark’s voice is hollow and defeated, with none of its usual provoking bite to it. “How’re you doing?”

 

“Finished puking last night, so my stomach is blissfully empty,” informs Jackson, patting his middle. “My headache is off the charts. 7.9 on the agony scale.”

 

Mark nods, not really listening. His left hand is wrapped around his right wrist, twisting agitatedly as though trying to wipe off a stain. When he catches Jackson’s suspicious gaze, he turns away and tucks his right hand behind his back, reaching up to pull the painkillers out of the mirror cabinet with his other hand. He walks past Jackson, who stares at him dubiously, and finds a bottle of water, swallowing the two pills with a difficult swallow.

 

He sits down at his desk, letting his head fall onto his folded arm. His thoughts criss-cross over each other, interfering and combining into static, plain cacophony. He racks his brains, trying to scrounge for bits and pieces of his memories from last night, but comes up with nothing. And the shame. Oh, he’s so ashamed. What kind of idiot finds their soulmate when they’re so shitfaced that they don’t remember it in the morning?

 

He’s almost dropping off again, but then he feels a strong grip on his arm, and jerks his head upwards. Spots blink before his eyes, and as they recede he sees Jackson, standing over him with an unreadable expression. “You found your soulmate?” he asks emotionlessly.

 

“Not that I remember,” sighs Mark heavily. The guilt, the shame, the disbelief—they fill him up, making it a little difficult for him to breathe.

 

“You don’t remember?” There’s a note of amusement in Jackson’s voice, and as Mark watched, his stony expression melts away into a huge grin, and he erupts into little giggles, because loud laughing would make his head ache even more. “That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard of.”

 

“Don’t,” groans the blond, wrenching his wrist away from Jackson’s hold. “This is not funny.”

 

“You have no clue how funny this is.” Jackson lets a few more laughs escape him before letting his expression subside into a small smile. “Well, that’s one less empty wrist.” The undertone of resentment to the joke does not escape Mark’s notice.

 

“Jackson, I’m sure you’ll find your soulmate someday.” The addressed pouts in response. “Don’t give me that face, you’re actually making me feel guilty.”

 

“Guilty for what? Finding your soulmate? Bullshit,” says Jackson, patting Mark on the shoulder while taking a seat on the desk itself. “My jealousy is not something that’s going to last very long, and besides, focus on what’s important here. Who do you think could be your soulmate?”

 

Mark swallows down his guilt, not losing the uneasy feeling in his chest. He wants his best friend to be happy too. He hates the concept of soulmates. “Here’s the problem.” He holds out his wrist so that Jackson can clearly read the mark, offering a painful flinch as his reaction.

 

“11:11 PM? Ouch, my man, that’s gotta hurt.” Jackson shakes his head helplessly. “That makes your search a lot harder.”

 

“I know,” sighs Mark, his voice almost a whisper.

 

“What do we do now? 11:11 PM can’t be a common mark… Should we go searching for people with it, or what?”

 

“Honestly, I want to completely forget about the whole thing and just pretend it’s not there,” grumbles Mark tiredly, putting his wrist face down on the desk, staring at it with loathing eyes.

 

“Don’t worry, my man,” assures Jackson, thumping Mark’s back. The world flashes in and out of focus, and the nausea makes a reappearance. “Fate will work things out.”

 

“You’ve always been the hugest non-believer in fate, and those words are coming from your mouth?”

 

“You’ve always been the hugest non-believer in soulmates, and you actually found yours. Sorta, anyway. Don’t talk.”

 

Mark sighs. At this point, he’d rather he didn’t have a soulmate.

 

*

 

_“Do you think the world would function easier if everyone just had to say what was on their mind, all the time?”_

 

_“You mean like you?”_

 

_“Not really. What if you couldn’t lie? What if you couldn’t hold thoughts in?”_

 

_“The world would be in perennial chaos then, I think.”_

 

_“You just mean that you’d get into too much trouble if you were honest all the time.”_

 

_Mark grins, knowing that the other sees through him either way._

 

*

 

Mark is stressed out, and it shows. Having finished all his papers, he sits idle, and a Mark Tuan left to his own thoughts is not a Mark Tuan to be trusted. Scattered over his desk are five different kinds of paper flowers, a couple paper animals, and the beginnings of a dragon.

 

He feverishly pins down another crease, flipping the paper over before he hears a sharp rapping on his door. He pauses his folding. It can't be Jackson, since he knows for a fact that Jackson is out at some party, and he never returns early, and especially not to Mark's room. He's not even sure if the knocks are coming down on his door at first, but then they get louder and he crosses the room to open the door, pulling his wristband over his right hand. (No, he still hasn't found his soulmate. Don't ask him about it, or he'll bite your head off. Jackson found out firsthand.)

 

“Hey, you,” says Mark, not keeping the surprise out of his voice. “What're you doing here?”

 

“Can I stay at yours tonight? I've been sexiled by my roommate,” blurts out Jinyoung immediately. Mark nods, moving to let the younger in, a small smile forming on his face as Jinyoung starts telling him about the crazy incident that happened during drama practice earlier.

 

Regularised texts has brought out a feeling of familiarity, of friendship, but there's always a pleasant, flowy feeling, much like waterfalls sparkling with sunlight, that fills Mark when Jinyoung's around in flesh and blood. The ravenet settles himself on Mark's bed like he's been there a million times. He's wearing a sweater today as well, this one a shade of sky blue. Come to think of it, Mark’s never seen Jinyoung in anything other than full-sleeved clothing, and he still hasn't confirmed the existence (or lack thereof) of the assumed time mark.

 

“Holy frick, did you make all that?” asks Jinyoung, abruptly cutting his own sentence off to point to the origami creations littering Mark's desk. At receiving a nod of affirmation, along with a, “for the last two hours, to be honest,” the ravenet goes on to remark, “That's either absolutely talented or absolutely psychotic behaviour.”

 

A laugh escapes Mark, and as he meets Jinyoung's eyes, he notices the younger smiling at him with a certain… fondness, but before he can confirm that, Jinyoung's moved on to the next topic, leaving Mark to get himself to catch up, just as usual.

 

Mark settles on the end of the bed opposite to Jinyoung, hugging a pillow to his chest as he answers Jinyoung's question about how things are going on the computer science side of the tracks. He finds it amusing that Jinyoung actually looks interested when he's talking about his mundane life, and his left hand begins picking at a string of the wristband, as though reminding himself. He's decided to go against his initial idea of completely avoiding Jinyoung after the morning following the party, knowing that even if he has to get his heart broken, he can at least enjoy what he does have before having it taken away from him.

 

The weirdest of conversations always seem to happen when Jinyoung is involved. “You know how many soulmark jokes your soulmate will be able to make?”

 

“Oh my god, I cannot believe you actually—”

 

“Yeah, I did,” chuckles the ravenet. “But for real, if your soulmate does not end up making that pun, that would be a waste.”

 

“If I find my soulmate in the first place,” reminds Mark. He suddenly feels like a stone has dropped into his stomach, and it probably shows in his expression, because Jinyoung bluntly changes the topic, making the older smile. Jinyoung has a way of influencing the conversation depending on the way Mark responds, and Mark’s always grateful for that.

 

“Oh, hey, your classmate Sunji? She's been going out with my roommate, that idiot Eunshim, for three fucking days, and I've already been sexiled, can you believe that?” Around an hour later, the way they're sitting is considerably changed, with their sitting postures at right angles, legs entangled. A huge pack of chips that Mark was originally saving for ‘emergencies’ rests in the space between them, half-empty.

 

“Sad life,” shrugs Mark, crushing a chip between his teeth.

 

“You're lucky you don't have a roommate,” whines Jinyoung, tossing a chip in the air and attempting to catch it in his mouth, only to fail miserably. “Stop laughing, asshole.” He glares darkly, his demeanor back to nonchalant two seconds later, when he casually remarks, “Although considering the chance of me getting sexiled a lot more after this, I might just move in here.”

 

“Why are you making it seem like I'm your only option here?” The words leave his mouth before Mark can stop them. The thought has been plaguing him for an hour or so. Jinyoung must have a plethora of friends across college. Why'd he come here?

 

“You're not,” says Jinyoung simply. “You're the option I choose.”

 

“Jeez, that sounds so cheesy,” Mark attempts to tease, trying to stop the warm feeling spreading across his cheeks. Jinyoung seems to rather enjoy this, eyes twinkling mischievously.

 

“Cheese is good. The world runs on cheese power. I only trust people who like cheese,” grins Jinyoung, twirling a chip between his fingers while staring at it in concentration.

 

“Even the pretentious, stinky cheeses?”

 

“Except those,” informs the younger, jabbing a chip in his direction. “Those are for high class society. I don't fit in there.” A pause. “Why are we talking about this again?”

 

“I don't know, you started it!” laughs Mark, kicking out at the ravenet playfully, who catches his foot and tugs on it. The older makes another attempt, only for Jinyoung to foil that as well. Exasperated, Mark lifts himself up and twists his feet out of Jinyoung's grasp, batting away the swipes at his face and pinning the younger's wrists down with a taunting laugh. Joke’s on him, because Jinyoung throws his weight against him, sending them both toppling in the same direction. Mark's head hits the pillow harshly, and Jinyoung's face stops inches from his, his hands pinning down the blond's wrists on either side.

 

And they say clichés are baseless. Mark's heart accelerates at the proximity, and shock is written all over Jinyoung's face. In these few beautiful, terrifying seconds, they each stare unabashedly (by force of situation, thank you over much), their breathing—sharp and stunted and filled with the odor of potato chips—almost identical. Jinyoung is the first to recover, rolling over to lie down next to Mark, whose heart is drumming so loud he can hear it in his ears, as though he just ran a mile without stopping.

 

The younger shakily laughs, pulling Mark back to the present. “Sorry.” But he doesn't sound apologetic. Mark doesn't see what's to be sorry about either. He's just sorry that the moment was over too early. He just shakes his head as though to say _forget it_ , not meeting Jinyoung's gaze, which he can feel burning into the side of his face.

 

“Do you keep the windows closed all the time? God, no wonder it's suffocating in here,” says Jinyoung, in an attempt to change the subject. Mark knows that he's not the only one who knows that there are other reasons for how suffocating it is, but he doesn't say that. Jinyoung gets up and tugs the curtains so that the sky can show.

 

The crescent moon is up in the sky today, curved and bright as a lopsided grin. The sliver of light in the otherwise pitch black sky is beautiful in every way, and Jinyoung is equally in awe, a mesmerising smile on his face as he stares up at it.

 

He turns back to Mark, catching his eyes completely and unexpectedly. His smile widens slightly. “You're staring,” he whispers, cutting through the hazy half-thoughts In Mark's head.

 

The skin covered under Mark's wristband feels like it's burning up, because he can't even form a contradiction.

 

*

 

_“Have you ever had your heart broken before?”_

 

_“This is a question you don't hear very often at three in the morning.”_

 

_“This is a question you can only ask at three in the morning.”_

 

_“Well, then, no. Have you?”_

 

_“Nope.” But it's in the process of being broken, adds Mark mentally._

 

*

 

Mark taps his fingers impatiently on the tabletop, his fingers itching to pick up a napkin and begin folding it, but he thinks that would leave a weird first impression on his date. However, at this point, he given up caring about what kind of impression he's going to leave on his date, who, by the way, hasn't shown up in _two fucking hours._

 

It was Jackson's idea. Mark had done nothing but comply with it, which he completely regretted now. Being stood up and losing two whole hours of his life was not the way he wanted to spend his Saturday evening. What had Jackson said? _“This is a person who you definitely wouldn’t have put down as a soulmate choice! And he was at Jieun’s party! It might just be him! Give him a chance!”_ Now that Mark is very annoyed, Jackson’s voice sounds a lot more chirpy and aggravating than it actually was, and he knows that he definitely, _definitely_ won’t put down someone who has the audacity to stand him up as a soulmate choice.

 

The waiter gives him a glance again, and he pretends not to notice. His coffee cup sits in front of him, emptied and staring back at him with a pity that makes him want to throw the pretty demitasse across the room. His appetite deserted him a while ago, and now he’s going to leave. No more excuses, no more _five more minutes, I’m sure he was just held up._ Mark is done. He just can’t believe it took him two hours to get to get to breaking point.

 

He pays for the coffee, preventing himself from slamming the notes onto the table. He takes his coat and his anger and leaves before his urge to punch something becomes too much to resist. The chilly winter air is like a knife slashed across his face. It had snowed for a while when he had been waiting, and he hadn’t anticipated this severe a temperature drop. He pulls his coat around him tighter, shivering, mulling over his options. He doesn’t want to call Jackson to pick him up, because he’s sure he doesn’t want to see Jackson’s face right now. He decides to walk down to the bus stop a few streets away, and catch a bus to college.

 

He takes a few steps. The street is dark and nearly deserted but for a few people who pass by him quickly, all in their hurry to get home. His footsteps are slow and heavy, because he can take him time to get back to his dorm, and he wants to wallow in self-pity until then. What had he been thinking? That he’d actually find his soulmate? Fat chance. He’s going to never find out who it was that he kissed and then he’ll have to live the rest of his days accompanied by nothing but the thought of ~~Lunar Boy~~ Jinyoung who at that time would probably would be living with his soulmate (that lucky fucker) and hey wait a minute is that Jinyoung yeah that definitely looks like Jinyoung what is Jinyoung doing here—

 

Shock and disbelief take over his initially blank expression in a quick second, because that is actually Park Jinyoung—clad in a long black trench coat that flaps around his knees due to the wind—walking right towards him. Mark stops in his tracks, and Jinyoung draws up to him. The younger’s face is stoic, his breath forming a mini-cloud, his voice hollow, when he says, “I came to your room to check if you wanted to hang out. Jackson told me you’d be here.” A pause, because Mark doesn’t know how to process that. “He said you were on a date?”

 

 _Oh._ “I was supposed to be,” Mark decides to admit. “But he never showed up.”

 

Jinyoung’s irises shine with trapped emotions and scrutiny, like he’s sizing Mark up properly, like he’s calculating what to say next. “Did you want him to show up?”

 

The answer to the question should be fairly obvious, but Mark can sense the test behind it. “No,” he sighs. He didn’t want the other person to show up, regardless of how mad he got when he was stood up. He didn’t want to consider the possibility of actually finding out who his soulmate was. He wants to live in the bliss of ignorance just a little longer, until he grows out of his selfishness.

 

“Okay,” nods Jinyoung like he understands. “Are you heading back?”

 

“Yes, are you?” asks Mark, before mentally kicking himself at that reply.

 

“I literally came here for you, so of course I’m heading back.” For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Jinyoung smiles. It’s soft and hesitant, enhanced by the rays of dim moonlight that has managed to escape from behind the clouds. _Lunar Boy_ , whispers a voice at the back of Mark’s mind. _You have no idea how gone I am for you._

 

They fall into step, not speaking. The anger in Mark’s chest has cleared, dissipated into wisps of nothingness. Jinyoung seems like he’s trying to sort out his own thoughts, until he finally breaks the silence between them. “So how long were you waiting for this guy?”

 

“Two hours,” groans Mark, his fingers curling at the memory. It’d be best if he forgot that as quick as possible.

 

“Ouch, that sucks,” flinches Jinyoung. “I’ve had my fair share of being stood up, so I get how awful that must’ve been.”

 

“Who would stand you up?” wonders Mark out loud. Jinyoung turns to him with a quizzical expression at those words, but he just smiles in response, making it come off a little more teasing than he means it.

 

“Jackson Wang, apparently,” says Jinyoung coolly, and Mark chokes, “What?!” He has no recollection of Jackson ever mentioning a Park Jinyoung to him. He would’ve remembered. He thinks. Jackson drops names all the time, and Mark generally ignores them, but they’re stored somewhere in his memory, so he _would’ve_ remembered.

 

“I don’t think you went to this college then,” explains Jinyoung. “It was during first year.”

 

Well, that explains it. Mark didn’t step foot in South Korea until a few days before his second year of college. “Jackson stood you up?” The fact sounds weird in his mouth. It’s still unbelievable. It’s like saying that goldfish shouldn’t be kept in goldfish bowl, or that feeding bread to ducks is actually harmful. It’s true, but that doesn’t make it any less freaky. “Jackson stood _you_ up? _Jackson_ stood you up?”

 

“Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” chuckles Jinyoung at the blond’s incredulousness. He pushes Mark’s slack jaw upward, telling him that insects will find their way in there. They finally make it to the vacant bus stop, but the schedule informs them that there are still ten minutes left for the next bus to arrive.

 

Mark takes a seat on the bench, splaying his nearly numb hands over his knees. Jinyoung takes a seat next to him, his hand accidentally brushing against Mark’s. “Holy fuck, why are your hands so cold?”

 

“Why aren’t yours?” retorts Mark.

 

“Maybe because I’ve been keeping them in my sleeves the whole time.” Jinyoung rolls his eyes at the older, who scoffs, like it wasn’t a sensible thing to do.

 

“Maybe I didn’t think of that,” concedes the blond grudgingly. Jinyoung laughs, a cloud forming with every giggle wheezed out.

 

Mark’s caught off-guard, his brain always slowing down to a pathetically sluggish pace every time Jinyoung laughs, so maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice it all that immediately when Jinyoung intertwines their fingers and gently guides Mark’s hand to the voluminous pocket of his trench coat. His first sign is the fact that his hand stops feeling cold, and he looks up at Jinyoung, who isn’t looking at him, instead looking straight ahead with an innocent half-smile on his face.

 

Mark scoots a little closer so he’s leaning against Jinyoung, and he can feel the ravenet’s hand squeeze his own. Just slightly, very gently. Enough for Mark to notice. Enough to send warm shivers all over Mark’s body. Enough to bring a disbelieving upward curve to Mark’s lips.

 

Enough to get him worrying that at the end of this, there may be two broken hearts instead of one.

 

*

 

_“...I mean, can you believe that?” completes Mark with a dramatic flourish of his hands, having finished recounting a really long story._

 

_“No.”_

 

_“Well, believe it.”_

 

_“Okay.”_

 

_“Why are you smiling like that?”_

 

_“You talk about a hundred times more than the first time we had a conversation.”_

 

_“Would you like me to shut up?”_

 

_“Yes, please.”_

 

_“Asshole.”_

 

_A laugh, soft and amused. “I’m kidding. You’re cute. Keep talking.”_

 

_So Mark does, even though he does stumble on the initial few words._

 

*

 

“I don’t understand why you can’t practice your lines in your room like everyone else,” grumbles Mark in an annoyed whisper, as he swings his leg over the windowsill and climbs into the auditorium. Sneaking into the theatre hall at one in the morning was not on his bucket list, to be honest, but Jinyoung has this effect on him and he’s not exactly sure how to say no anymore.

 

“You don’t understand the difference, and I don’t expect you to,” says Jinyoung, and Mark guesses that he’s rolling his eyes as he walks towards the stage. “Besides, I’m the president, they’re not going to kill me for this. The show must go on and all that jazz, am I right? The show doesn’t go on without me.” He stops to flash Mark a blinding smile at he reaches the foot of the steps.

 

The older scoffs. “If you say so.” He settles himself in a plush seat in the front row and curls up into a ball. “Go ahead. Go practice. Just tell me when you’re done.” He watches Jinyoung practice his role for a while, pretending that he doesn’t want to be there. The ravenet is flawless in his acting. His expressions flow from one to the other like a river, his hand gestures captivating, his enunciation practiced to perfection. Mark thinks he’d make a really good actor, if he chose to take it up as a profession.

 

The climax, where Jinyoung drops to his knees, tears trailing down his cheeks, Mark refuses to pretend to be asleep any longer, sitting up and watching with intent eyes, until the scene is finished, and Jinyoung’s mask shatters, and he’s simply Jinyoung again, looking at Mark with eyes that are hesitant, seeking validation, the brightness and pride showing through as well, albeit muffled. The older smiles, clapping loudly as Jinyoung walks down the stairs on the side of the stage, a delighted albeit bashful grin on his face.

 

“I thought you were sleeping?” teases Jinyoung, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. The tear tracks on his cheeks haven’t been wiped off, so Mark takes the liberty of doing it himself, letting his hands rest on either side of Jinyoung’s face for a couple seconds longer. “Can we get out of here now?” he asks, letting a little of his fatigue seep into his voice for added effect.

 

“Yeah, let’s go,” agrees the younger, his smile turning softer at the edges.

 

They switch off all the lights and open the window again. Luckily, the auditorium is on the ground floor, so the jump from the window is only a few feet down. Mark springs down lithely, his tiredness making him feel the impact of the ground a little more than usual. Jinyoung throws one leg of his out the window, rather dangerously moving most of his weight out the window. “Oh, hang on, I think I forgot something—” He twists around, a mistake.

 

“Forget it, Jinyoungie, can you just—” Mark doesn’t even get to complete his warning, but he supposes it doesn’t count either way if the reason the warning was issued happened before the warning left his mouth. Jinyoung over-balances, his foot losing contact with the floor of the auditorium, sending him toppling out the window, and right on top of Mark.

 

And Mark’s not going to lie. The breath is knocked out of him. And it hurts. A lot, because Jinyoung is no feather. He is quicker than Mark to respond though, immediately checking for damage on the older. He pulls him up, settling him against his chest. Mark’s head is tucked under Jinyoung’s chin, and he can feel the hurried whispers of “Are you okay? Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” fluttering over his ear.

 

“A little dazed, but okay,” grunts out Mark, once his speech has returned to him. Jinyoung’s frantic whispers stop abruptly, but he holds Mark a little tighter. “I’m fine,” says the blond, a little steadier this time, but Jinyoung doesn’t let go of him.

 

“I know,” says the younger, moving his fingers to run them gently through Mark’s hair. “But just a little longer?”

 

It’s an awkward sight, two college students, huddling near the side of the auditorium on the most deserted side of campus at two o’clock on a really chilly morning, but something about it feels right. Mark pulls his sleeve a little lower on his right forearm, wishing this could last forever, wishing he could turn fate the way he wanted, wishing a lot of things, but knowing that none of them will come true. “Just a little longer,” he whispers back.

 

Forever is unattainable. That’s why you have to live with what you get, whether it be the next few hours or the next few months or the next few years. Every second counts, and that’s why Mark can’t let each one go. Now he knows that Jinyoung can’t either.

 

*

 

_A whisper. “I don’t like you.”_

 

_Mark doesn’t move, because sleeping people aren’t supposed to respond._

 

_A hand lightly rests on his head._

 

_Another whisper. “I shouldn’t like you.”_

 

_Mark relates._

 

*

 

The crowd bursts into raucous applause, Mark included. This time he isn’t the only one clapping, and Jinyoung is glowing on stage, among the rest of the actors. Mark is in the second row, next to Jackson (who he had to physically drag there), pride written all over his face.

 

“You know what, I actually enjoyed that, so I’m not going to kill you later,” whispers Jackson sweetly in his ear, over the collective noise of whoops, yells and cheers. Mark holds up a thumbs-up, receiving a hit on the shoulder from the other.

 

Jackson decides not to accompany Mark backstage, so the blond makes his way there himself, nearly turning back about five times before making his way to the place where entire drama team in congregated with their friends and family, a mess of tears, grins, and congratulations. He stays to the side, searching for Jinyoung among the mass of people, an origami rose clutched tight in his hand. It’s cheesy, he knows, but Jinyoung is allergic to actual flowers and this was the best Mark could do.

 

He’s about to leave, figuring he can meet Jinyoung later, when a very familiar voice calls his name, and a smile is already on his face when the younger runs over and traps him in a huge hug with a joyous “You came!”

 

“Of course I came, did you expect me not to?” Mark ruffles Jinyoung’s hair, swinging the ravenet around once before his lack of athletic ability forces him to put him down and quit the cliché.

 

Jinyoung laughs. “Being honest, no.” There’s a thick layer of makeup on his face, but all the emotions projected in his smile still shine through, like they can’t be contained. His eyes are shining, dazzling and enrapturing. Mark feels like he possibly fall into them and drown.

 

“This is for you,” he says, finally remembering what he has in his hand. His hand shakes a bit as he hands over the paper flower, because suddenly it doesn’t feel like a good idea.

 

Jinyoung, however, doesn’t seem to think so, shyness permeating his entire demeanor as he holds the flower delicately in his hand. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

 

“You mean a lot.” Mark accessorizes the statement with a light-hearted smirk, just to make it less serious than it actually is. Jinyoung catches it though, and if he hadn’t been wearing makeup, Mark would’ve been able to see the redness of his cheeks.

 

He wasn’t going to say it, but the things Mark regrets are only the things he left unsaid.

 

*

 

_“How do you think people can tell when they find their soulmate?”_

 

_“Slap their lips on them at the specified time.”_

 

_“That’s a rather unromantic way to put it. I’m talking about feelings here.”_

 

_“The feeling of the time mark appearing when their lips are in contact.”_

 

_“You don’t like the concept of soulmates, do you?”_

 

_Mark is about to give his standard answer that the other has basically has no idea, but stops himself, finding understanding, soft and melodious, reflected in the other’s eyes, and opts to say nothing._

 

_“Me neither,” he says softly, with a depth that Mark now can decipher._

 

*

 

Mark closes the door of the library, the last thing on his checklist for the day checked off. He likes having the last library shift for the day. He likes walking back to the dorm in the darkness, accompanied by the moonlight, all alone.

 

Today, however, he finds Jinyoung waiting for him in front of the library, an apprehensive look on his face. He twists the scarf wrapped around his neck in his hands, his expression filling with steely determination masking copious amount of trepidation as Mark walks up to him.

 

“Hey,” starts Mark nervously. He knows. He knows that they’re about to have the conversation they've been putting off for way too long. He knows that this is quite possibly the last time he’ll talk to Park Jinyoung. And he’s come to accept it, so there's nothing but a faint numbness in his chest. They had to have this conversation at one point or the other.

 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” asks Jinyoung softly, his syllables wavering just the slightest.

 

Mark nods, and they walk in silence for sometime, their hands buried the pockets of their coats, stealing sideway glances when the other isn’t looking. And sometimes when the other is looking. There is no moon shining bright in the sky, so the atmosphere is dark and muted, setting a rather accurate mood.

 

Jinyoung finally breaks the silence, stopping in his tracks. “Remember when I asked you how it’d be if everyone had to be honest and had to say everything on their mind?” Mark stops as well, turning to face Jinyoung, waiting for the younger to go on. Despite the fact that he knows exactly how the conversation is going to end, he's still dead scared for every word that's going to follow. “Well, you’ve called me blatant about five hundred times since you met me, but there are quite a few things that I never said.”

 

“I know.” A pause. “You figure that we just get all of that out of the way now?”

 

“Putting it plainly, yes.” Jinyoung seems to struggle with himself for a second before taking it upon himself to go first. Which is fine, because Mark wasn’t going to go first anyway. “Sunji and Eunshim broke up two days after the first time I crashed in your room.”

 

Mark does a double take. Jinyoung had come and slept in his room several times after the first time, complaining that he’d be sexiled all over again, and now, looking at the sheepish smile directed at him, Mark knows that that definitely wasn’t the case. “Okay,” he nods slowly. “My turn. I referred to you as Lunar Boy in my head because you reminded me so much of the moon the first time that I noticed you.”

 

“That day at the library, when it was raining?” remembers Jinyoung, receiving a nod of affirmation. “Oh my god, really?”

 

“Yeah,” breathes Mark, feeling like with every second, his breathing becomes a little more difficult.

 

“I called you Soulmark in my head, ever since that day I made that joke. You looked so annoyed every time the topic of soulmates came up.” A bitter laugh. “I even had a list of reasons why you should be my soulmate.”

 

Forget missing one step, Mark feels like he just fell down a whole staircase. It's painful and hurts everywhere, but for a second, he actually felt like he was flying. “I did too. But I kept reminding myself that you were way too good for me.”

 

“Bullshit,” hisses Jinyoung, eyes flashing fire at that statement. “I even punched Eunshim in the face because he dared say that to me.” Mark raises a questioning eyebrow, prompting Jinyoung to explain, “He asked me where I kept sleeping over.”

 

Mark smiles wryly. “You’re in love with me.”

 

“And you’re in love with me.” A painful chuckle. “That’s not a good thing, is it?”

 

“It should be,” grits out Mark, his chest constricting. “but it’s not.”

 

Jinyoung takes a deep breath, staring down at his shoes before catching Mark’s gaze wholly, a mix of emotions swirling in his eyes. “I knew what the consequences of getting close to you were. I knew I’d fall in love with you, and that it would end in a mess. But what could I do? You’re sweet and funny, and I love talking to you. I love how you’re so nonchalant about everything. I love the crazy hyena-like way you laugh. I love a lot of things about you. Things that make you Mark Tuan.”

 

“When you say it like that, how am I supposed to phrase my sentences? You took all the good adjectives.” Jinyoung gives him a watery laugh for that. “No, but seriously, I knew what I was getting into as well. But you talk about the weirdest things and get so intense and you don’t let me turn away, Park Jinyoung. I blame you for having such a magnetic personality. I blame you for making me fall in love with you.”

 

Jinyoung takes a step forward tentatively, but once Mark does as well, he takes a braver step forward, wrapping his arms around Mark and placing his head on the older’s shoulder. Mark holds Jinyoung tightly, hating the concept of soulmates more than ever at this moment. _Why? Why does it have to be this way?_ Life is unfair, and Mark grew up acknowledging that fact, but it stings all the more now, like a million glass shards have embedded themselves all over him.

 

“Is this what heartbreak feels like?” Jinyoung’s head rests in the hollow of Mark’s neck, a dangerous wobble to his voice. “Having to walk away from the one person I want because being together would hurt both of us?”

 

“Please don’t cry,” whispers Mark. He feels like he’s falling apart internally himself, but he’s holding himself together just enough to prevent completely breaking down right now. If Jinyoung cries, he will not know what to do, what to say, and he will regret that for the rest of his life.

 

“I won’t,” says Jinyoung, straightening up so he can be face-to-face with Mark. They’re almost the same height, and Jinyoung places his hands on either side of Mark’s face, making the older shudder, almost imperceptibly—half from how cold Jinyoung’s hands are and half from how they’re so close that their breaths are intermixing in the sliver of space between them. And this time it’s for real.

 

Mark tightens his arms around Jinyoung’s waist, and the younger gently caresses Mark’s cheekbones with his thumbs, a small melancholic smile on his face. Mark’s heart feels like it might just explode from feeling too many emotions at once. Jinyoung leans in and places his lips against Mark’s, soft and warm. The older is reminded of all the things that he thought of when he first noticed Jinyoung. Butterflies’ wings and the image of the star-filled night sky on a still lake. It’s delicate, gentle, careful, mesmerizing and paralysing at the same time.

 

They’re frozen like that for a couple seconds, eyes closed, noses at an awkward angle, before Mark remembers to kiss back, moving his lips against Jinyoung’s. The kiss escalates into something a little more heated, a little more aggressive, a little more desperate, like they’re trying to dredge the most out of the last few seconds that they’re allowing themselves. The moment reminds Mark of fireworks—shining bright and beautiful and full of color, right before it dies.

 

“I love you, Park Jinyoung,” breathes Mark as they finally break apart, feeling like he’s been destroyed from his very foundation, in the best and worst ways possible.

 

Jinyoung has one of his hands at the back of Mark’s neck, and the thumb of his other hand gently ghosts over Mark’s lips, on which he places one more kiss. A chaste kiss, filled with unspoken promises, tasting of goodbyes. “I love you too, Mark Tuan.”

 

As much as he doesn’t want to let go of him, Mark does, because he has to.

 

When he walks away, he doesn’t look back, because he knows that if he does, he’ll not have the strength to not run back.

 

*

 

_“Do you think you’d have the strength to say ‘Fuck the system, I’ll love who I want’ if there was someone who came along?”_

 

_Mark had been asked this question once before, by Jackson._

 

_His answer was the same both times. “No, I’m not that strong.”_

 

_It was only the second time that he felt so much worse about admitting that._

 

_He recounts the conversation again for the seventh time this week, and the self-hate comes back, like it never left._

 

*

 

Mark is not okay. By any person’s standards.

 

Two weeks since he’s spoken to Jinyoung, and Mark still hasn’t recovered, confining himself to his room when he doesn’t have class, quitting his library duties (even Yoongi was sad to see him go) because he couldn’t stand the thought of the high possibility of running into Jinyoung, and making Jackson chide him day in and day out for withdrawing into himself. Jinyoung is pretending to be fine as well, but he’s doing a better job of it than Mark is. Sometimes the blond spots him around campus, with his friends, and he’s smiling and talking like usual. A sick feeling generally tends to well up in Mark’s gut at this point, so he just walks away, his footsteps heavier and angrier, sounding like the drumbeat to the chant in his head that goes _just breathe, don't react, just breathe, don't react, just breathe..._

 

Jackson is the only person that Mark talks to properly anymore, and he’s trying not to let it show outwardly that he’s falling to pieces inside. He goes about like usual when he’s outside his room, but confined to his own four walls, he lets himself eat gallons of chocolate ice cream and watch dramas until four in the morning. Jackson’s now changed the passcode for his laptop, and so Mark is extremely mad today, because he has two episodes left to watch to complete Descendants of the Sun, and now thanks to Jackson, he can't see how it ends.

 

Unfortunately, he has to go to the library to borrow a book, because his paper is due tomorrow and like usual, he hasn’t even begun writing it. And it’s nine o’clock in the evening. He checks out the book quickly, earning a glare from Yoongi because of how jumpy he’s being. The glare feels familiar. It almost makes Mark smile. Almost.

 

Luck must be on his side, because Jinyoung is not in the library. However, when he steps outside the library, that’s when his luck runs out, because walking towards him in an apparent hurry, devoid of jacket and scarf and basically any protection against the cold, is Park Jinyoung, with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“Jackson told me you’d be here,” he huffs out as he draws up to Mark, who experiences déjà vu. Maybe he should stop telling Jackson where he’s going.

 

Mark is dumbstruck, robbed of words. They would not talk to each other, go back to strangers, those were the unuttered words that they both knew they had to follow anyway. Then why was Jinyoung standing in front of him right now, exhibiting very clear signs of having rushed to get here, face red, breathing labored?

 

Jinyoung takes a second to calm his breathing, straightening up and looking Mark dead in the eye. “11:11 PM. That’s what your time mark says, doesn’t it?”

 

“What, did Jackson tell you that as well?” There’s a buzzing in his head, and he feels like he’s gone numb.

 

“No. Jackson just told me where you were. I found out on my own that you didn’t have the time mark at first, that you got it when you were absolutely shitfaced and did not remember it when you were sober again.” Jinyoung’s voice is dead serious, words rushing out in a mess of near incoherency, like he needs to get them out right now, this moment.

 

Mark is confused. Only Jackson knew that. The pieces of a puzzle begin coming together at the back of his head, but no. There’s no way. There can’t be. “How?”

 

“Probably because I didn’t remember either… until about half an hour ago.” Jinyoung holds up his right wrist, and written on it, in clear, black numbers, is the time 11:11 PM. The smile on his face projects a mix of smugness, anticipation and plain, plain happiness.

 

No. _No._ There’s _no_ way.

 

“You’re—” Mark chokes on his words. “You’re—?”

 

“Yeah,” breathes Jinyoung softly. “I’m your fricking soulmate, Mark.”

 

“You were at Jieun’s party?” A nod. “You were drunk too?” Another nod. “And you’re sure of what you’re saying?”

 

“Positive,” grins Jinyoung. “How else would I know those details? How else would I think that kissing you was awfully familiar?”

 

“Get out!” All the weight that accumulated in Mark’s chest over the last two weeks feels like it’s all been lifted off in a span of three seconds, and the lightness he feels inside feels almost unreal. But this conversation is actually happening. He is definitely not dreaming. “We went through all that emotional drama for nothing?”

 

“Seems like.”

 

“But wait, that doesn’t make sense.” Mark’s incredulously happy tone falters. “11:11 PM means that your soulmate isn’t the one you want.”

 

Jinyoung thinks for a couple seconds. “I think you got that part wrong,” he says slowly. “The original superstition was those with 11:11 PM don’t get the ones they _expect._ And that makes sense, since I thought that you had the time mark because you wore that stupid wristband all the time, and that you thought it definitely wasn’t going to be me.”

 

Mark lets that sink in. “So we’re really—” A smile gradually takes hold of all his facial features, and he drops the satchel on his shoulder, walking right into Jinyoung’s hug. He buries his head in Jinyoung’s shoulder, disbelieving and ecstatic, until the younger gently pushes his chin upwards, catching his lips in a clumsy mix of kisses and laughs.

 

Mark is the first to break the string of kisses, taking a couple seconds to just simply take in the sight of Jinyoung, who he hasn’t looked at properly for the last two weeks. The full moon shines down bright on them, and Jinyoung is all the more beautiful in the moonlight. He glows softly, his features accentuated just right so he looks as beautiful outside as the Jinyoung inside.

 

“You’re beautiful,” whispers Jinyoung, and red stains Mark’s cheeks. He was going to say that. “Soulmark,” the younger can’t resist adding, grinning mischievously.

 

“Is this what I’m going to have to deal with?” groans Mark playfully.

 

“For posterity,” reminds Jinyoung. “You up for that?”

 

Mark smiles, laying a soft kiss on Jinyoung’s forehead. “Definitely.”

 

*

 

_“Do you still hate the concept of soulmates?”_

 

_“Definitely. I wouldn’t have half the drama in my life without it.”_

 

_“What life?”_

 

_Jinyoung laughs as Mark pins him down while saying, “I’m talking about you.”_

 

_“You’re cheesy.”_

 

_“The moon is made of cheese.”_

 

_“Pretty good cheese, I’m told.”_

 

_“What are you talking about.”_

 

_“I don’t know either.”_

 

_Mark giggles. “I love you, Lunar Boy.”_

 

_“Now I know what we’re talking about.”_

 

_“Why you—”_

 

_Maybe a life without the concept of soulmates would've been simpler. But for him, Mark didn't see how it could get any better._

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> wow i hate that ending, but i couldn't come up with any better, i'm sorry.  
> this was the result of a conversation that i had with my best friend div while i was ranting about how much i loved ante meridiem ^.^  
> come talk to me on tumblr - [@thiyaksokhae](http://thiyaksokhae.tumblr.com/)  
> comments are appreciated a huge amount, so do tell me what you thought of this <3


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